


Modern Dating

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [16]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10797333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “I’m seeing someone,” Connie says.“Oh,” Roman says numbly. “This — sounds like you rejecting me.”





	Modern Dating

Roman walks in to his apartment to Zuza squirming with excitement. “You had a nice W-A-L-K two hours ago,” Roman says, because the dog walker let him know she had him covered, then drops his bag in the hall and picks her up, getting a few licks to the neck for his trouble, and goes to sit on the couch.

“I think I fucked up, Zuza,” Roman says, as she plants her paws on his chest and tries for his neck again, which is not happening with her stubby little legs. Roman pets her head until she calms, doing a circuit of his lap three times before putting her head on his thigh, tail wagging when he continues to pet her, more for himself than for her at this point.

“Fuck,” Roman mutters at the ceiling. Their optional practice tomorrow got canceled after they got snowed in last night, and Roman’s grateful for that right now, because neither he nor Connie are the type to skip practice, optional or not, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say right now. Probably nothing. Probably just give him space. Not Connie’s fault Roman misread the situation, thought it meant something it didn’t.

Roman tries not to wallow through the afternoon, but it’s a losing cause. He watches some crappy daytime TV, the kind he loved when he stayed home sick as a kid and still loves a little now, takes Zuza for another walk, starts and discards at least a dozen texts to Connie apologizing for putting him in the position he did, knowing he needs to say something, but never quite sure how to say it.

He’s scrapping another one when his phone buzzes in his hand, and it’s stupid that his heart rate speeds up, especially considering how many people it could be.

 _Can we talk tomorrow?_ Connie’s sent him.

 _we can talk now_ , Roman replies, though he’s not sure he actually wants to. Apologies aside, Roman’s very tempted to hide in his apartment until he’s contractually obligated to be in the same room as Connie. It’s cowardly, but hey, Roman kissing Connie was a brave and stupid leap of faith, and look how that worked out.

 _I can’t today I need to figure something out_ , Connie replies. _Can you come over tomorrow? Maybe noon?_

 _if you think you can’t reject me unless it’s in person text is fine_ , Roman writes, then hesitates, wondering if it sounds surly, unkind. He doesn’t want to be, but he also really doesn’t want to go over to Connie’s just because Connie’s the kind of nice that would want to reject Roman to his face to be fair to him or something.

 _I’m not rejecting you_ , Connie sends, and Roman’s still staring at it when it’s replaced with _Please come over tomorrow?_

 _what’s your address_ , Roman replies.

The rest of the day — and the following morning — involves Roman trying not to get his hopes up, and it works just as well as trying not to wallow did, which means he keeps smiling stupidly and then telling himself those stupid smiles are premature, followed by some more stupid smiling. Connie gets overwhelmed easy, Roman knows that — the whole _team_ knows that, and generally tries to help out when it’s obvious, and what Roman took as rejection could have just as easily been that. Probably, even, considering Connie’s crush on him has been visible from space almost as long as Roman’s known him.

 _Hopes up_ , his brain says sternly, and Roman lasts ten whole minutes before smiling again.

*

Roman’s not smiling on the short drive over to Connie’s. He could, in fact, use a little of that stupid optimism that’s been plaguing him since the text exchange with Connie, but it’s disappeared, replaced by nerves and second guesses. 

_Maybe he said he wasn’t rejecting me because he knew I wouldn’t come over if he said he was_ , Roman thinks halfway to Connie’s, and the only reason he doesn’t turn right around is because the remaining sane part of his mind asks him when the last time he saw Connie lie was, and how he did, and the answer was: for the Rookie Detectives, and it was patently obvious he was lying. Connie makes for a pretty transparent spy, as awful at it as Victor is unnervingly good. Roman bemoaned it then, but he’s a little grateful for that fact right now.

Roman planned on grabbing something to eat on the way to Connie’s, but his stomach’s rebelling, along with his brain, and he’s parking outside his apartment a good twenty minutes before he’s supposed to be there. He considers taking a walk to kill the time, but the temperature’s dropped, Connie’s car’s parked right in front of his, and it’s easier to just walk to the door, press Connie’s doorbell.

Connie’s slow to answer, enough so that Roman wonders if he’s out, car or not, before he comes to the front door, hair damp, darker and wavier than it usually is.

“Hi,” Connie says. “You’re um. Early.”

“That okay?” Roman asks. “I can take a walk around—”

“No, come in,” Connie says, throwing the door open, and Roman steps inside, following Connie upstairs to his apartment and then toeing off his shoes when he sees the neat line of them by the door, Connie’s socked feet.

“I just got back from the gym,” Connie says, which explains the hair. “Did you want something to drink? I have water and Gatorade and milk and um. Beer if you want, though—”

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” Roman says, and Connie exhales. “I’m good.”

“Did you want the tour?” Connie asks. “I mean, it’s all kind of—”

“Sure,” Roman says, even though he’d prefer not to wait in suspense, because Connie’s wound tight, clearly looking to delay talking. Roman doesn’t know whether that’s a good sign or a terrible one.

Connie’s place is pretty standard starter apartment, if a lot neater and boasting more furniture — Roman’s seen more than one guy go without a dining room table until he’s moved in with his girlfriend. There’s even a bed made in the spare room, which is extra bonus points. “Val’s room soon, I hope,” Evan says, smoothing a hand over the bedspread. 

“Place looks good, Connie,” Roman says.

“Thanks,” Connie says. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“I’m sure,” Roman says. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah,” Connie says. “Let’s — living room?” he asks, because apparently this can’t take place in any proximity to a bed. That or Roman will need to sit down. That or the living room is the most comfortable place to sit and converse and Roman is overthinking this like a crazy person.

Roman tries very hard not to also overthink Connie taking the far end of the couch from him, the way Connie’s looking at the coffee table — also impressive for a new apartment — instead of Roman, or the way Connie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, though it is very distracting.

“So,” Roman says. “You’re not rejecting me.”

“No,” Connie says. “I mean unless you want to, um.”

“Be rejected?” Roman asks. 

“No, I,” Connie says. “Why is this still hard?”

“Still?” Roman asks.

“I’m seeing someone,” Connie says.

“Oh,” Roman says numbly. “This — sounds like you rejecting me.”

“I’m not,” Connie says. “It’s — I talked to him yesterday. About maybe. I don’t know if you’d be okay with this, and if you aren’t I totally get it, I want you to know that, but—”

“Connie,” Roman says, because he needs to be put out of his misery. 

“I really like you,” Connie says, which sounds the most like rejection yet, because Roman knows it has to be followed by a ‘but’. “And I like him, and I just. This is really selfish but I don’t want to choose?”

“So what do you want?” Roman asks. “Because I’m confused.”

Connie rubs his face. “Vic told me it was modern dating,” he mumbles.

“What, having two boyfriends?” Roman asks.

“Dating more than one person,” Connie says. “I mean, I’m not assuming you want to be my boyfriend or anything.”

“Assume,” Roman says, a little insulted Connie thinks that Roman would kiss a teammate for shits and giggles or a hook up or that he’s anything less than completely serious about him. 

“Assume?” Connie asks.

“I want to be your boyfriend, for the record,” Roman says. “If that wasn’t clear.”

“Me too,” Connie says. “But there’s—”

“That guy,” Roman says.

“Yeah,” Connie says, then, “You kind of need to know something. That guy, he’s, um. Kind of—”

He stops, and the silence that descends is awkward, so Roman throws a few guesses out. “Jealous? Possessive? Has a concealed carry permit?”

“Hairy,” Connie says.

“He’s kind of hairy,” Roman says blankly. Does Connie think they’ll bond over that or something?

Connie laughs, more nerves than mirth. “No, he’s. Harry. Chalmers. You know. Um.”

“ _Spoilsport?_ ”, Roman asks incredulously. 

“Yeah,” Connie says.

“The Spoilsport who gives you shit all the time?” Roman asks. “That Spoilsport?”

“Stop calling him that,” Connie says, then, “He’s been nice to me lately.”

“Convenient,” Roman says, then puts his hands up when Connie frowns at him.

“How long has this been going on?” Roman asks, suddenly wondering if while he was worried about Connie and Harry sharing a room, Harry and Connie were laughing about getting one over on management. It didn’t seem like it, but then, he wouldn’t have guessed it now either, so what does he know?

“Not long,” Connie says. “Like a week.”

The sudden glaring is suddenly making a _lot_ more sense. So is Fitzy’s reaction when Roman asked about it, that little, surprisingly secretive shit.

“A week and you’ve decided you’re boyfriends?” Roman asks, feeling suddenly like he’s in high school.

“You just said you want to be mine,” Connie counters, and it’s on the tip of Roman’s tongue to say it’s different because they _know_ one another, but it’s not like Harry hasn’t known Connie just as long, he’s just been a jerk to him for most of it.

“So is this going to be like The Bachelor or something?” Roman asks. “Six weeks are up, and I only have one rose.”

“The Bachelor?” Connie asks.

“I know you and Sweet Child watched it together last season,” Roman says.

“We were working on his English,” Connie says, so serious sounding it’s impossible for Roman to know if he genuinely thought The Bachelor would be a good teaching tool, or if he’s straight up fucking with Roman. The first one, Roman decides, and is desperately charmed by it, though a little concerned about Val’s English, between the locker room and The Bachelor. Maybe Roman should check out if there are any good tutors in Des Moines who can undo some of The North Stars’ handiwork.

He’s getting distracted. “So what’s your plan, then?” Roman asks.

“None, really, I just — I want to give it a shot,” Connie says. ‘With both of you’ doesn’t need to be said.

“Until what?” Roman asks. “You think it’s going to be easier to choose further down the road?”

“I don’t know,” Connie says, voice small, and it’s all Roman can do to keep himself from reaching out to comfort him, the way his first instinct’s always been.

“I’m not really okay with sharing you,” Roman admits.

“I get it,” Connie says miserably.

“But I’m also not okay not — having you? Fuck, this makes you sound like an object or something, I don’t think of you like that,” Roman says.

“I know,” Connie says. 

“I guess I mean if that’s what you want,” Roman says. He can’t just — he’s not sure how he’s going to take it, especially considering Connie and Harry share a room on the road, but the idea of letting him go when he could have had him, maybe not exactly the way he wanted but still, the Connie sitting beside him, looking anxious, wavy hair falling onto his forehead, furrow between his brow and mouth bitten pink with nerves — that’s not something he can do either.

Roman tucks his hair back, though it ignores him, falling right back against Connie’s forehead when Roman takes his hand away. 

“I didn’t put gel in today,” Connie says.

“It looks good,” Roman says, then, “I’m in.”

“Are you sure?” Connie asks, wide-eyed and concerned sounding, not for him but for _Roman_ , and if Roman hadn’t decided already, that would have done it.

“Yeah,” Roman says, and kisses his pink, pink mouth. This time Connie doesn’t hesitate before kissing him back, mouth hot under his. He makes a soft sound, muffled against Roman’s mouth, when Roman’s fingers skate down his neck, his own hand going tight on Roman’s shoulder, and it’s just about all Roman can do not to shove him onto his back and see just how much noise he can make.

Bad idea, _bad_ idea, Roman thinks. Like, amazing idea, but also —

“Fuck, we need to,” Roman says, then gets distracted when Connie presses a kiss against his jaw. “Wait,” he says, gently nudging Connie back, though it’s hard not to pull him right back in the second he gets a look at his face, mouth parted, eyes blown dark, flushed and mussed and painfully attractive. “I want to do this right, okay?”

“What’s right?” Connie asks.

“I want to take you out,” Roman says. “Dinner, movie, something.”

Connie looks down, lashes brushing his cheeks, before he meets Roman’s eyes. “I’d like that,” he says, sounding a little shy.

“You can meet my puppy,” Roman says.

“You have a puppy?” Connie asks, with a smile that completely overtakes his face.

“I haven’t told you about her?” Roman asks. “I got her in the offseason.”

Connie shakes his head. “Do you have any pictures?” he asks, and Roman obviously has dozens, which he’s happy to show Connie, checking occasionally to see if he looks bored. He doesn’t, and once they’ve hit month two of Zuza and the very pretty bow Roman’s grandmother made her, Connie shifts away a bit, their thighs no longer touching, which Roman feels a pang about for just as long as it takes for Connie to put his head on Roman’s shoulder.

“Keep going?” Connie asks quietly, after Roman lingers on that photo for a little too long, and Roman rests his cheek against the top of Connie’s head for a moment before moving on to month three.


End file.
